


Ladies' Night

by Entomancy



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entomancy/pseuds/Entomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious package, an unexpected face from the past and very real, very current danger. Just another night at the Captive Creeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladies' Night

Minty didn't get a lot of post. She liked it that way.

Oh, the 'Creeper got deliveries; quite a few, by the standards of the area – ingredients, refills, little touches and luxuries for the bar that were difficult to produce out here. And some of the less _everyday_ items she might have a need for, when even her own skillset came up short at certain hurdles. Neither Sipsco or Honeydew.Inc. hired their long-distance distribution crews on the basis of unrivalled curiosity about their cargo, and she would admit to finding the fairly-predictable conduit back out into established civilisation to be useful, at times.

Rarely, though, was something specifically addressed to _her_.

Sjin had brought the box over that afternoon, fresh off the latest dirt-truck. He'd been near-bouncing with curiosity about its contents, and she had felt a faint guilty twinge at the visible disappointment as she shooed him away, trying to keep her own sudden suspicion off her face. The parcel was the size of a large shoebox, square, heavy, and wrapped in what she considered to be overly discreet paper. It made no sound when moved – gently – and she had placed it carefully in the back room; the one lined with surprisingly thick metal that served ostensibly as a pantry, right up until she needed it not to.

Now, several hours later when she had time to focus on the issue, she had done as thorough examination of the box as she could without actually opening it. There had been a card, a small, simple square of dull brown, with her own name printed in unremarkable type, and nothing else. No sender, no return address.

Was that more worrying? No one knew she was here. Even when she'd had to call in _very_ old contacts – a few times for Lalna, and his particular personal tab; once for Honeydew, solemn and edgy in his request for information neither of them would fully admit to wanting to know; and once for Sjin, although he wasn’t actually _aware_ of that yet – she had fallen back into wary habits easily enough. No one should know she was here.

Someone did.

Her polished fingernails drummed a thoughtful beat against the door frame as she stared at the package. She didn’t have all that much equipment for interrogating suspect post. There was –

– the faintest of sounds, back down the corridor, as something shifted ever-so slightly behind one of the stacks of glassware, and Minty stiffened. That was _close_ – which meant whoever it was had managed to avoid any of the earlier detectors.

The metal door swung silently closed on its oiled hinges, as she headed back into the main bar, carefully nonchalant. The shutters were down for the night, but the lights were still on, and going suddenly dark would be suspicious. She made a circuit of the room, picking up a couple of glasses as she went, and deposited them back into the sink. That seemed reasonable, so she flicked a few switches, lowering the bar lights, and spilling soft illumination down the little corridor that led back into the living-rooms of the building.

Then she dropped down behind the counter, back into the deeper shadows of the deadspot there, and closed her eyes, letting her night vision come back as she settled in to wait. There were only a few ways of getting into this building with any degree of stealth – and she wasn’t disappointed.

High above, there was the faintest of sounds and Minty tensed, curling her fingers around the barrel of the shotgun resting on one lower shelf, and adjusted her position. There were few more moments of anticipatory silence, a few more clicks and scrapes, and then a line of moonlight opened against the roof, high up past the rafters that cut across the ceiling-space, as the dislodged vent was moved aside. Another pause, heavy with a sense of wary scanning of the room below, and a darker shape slid through the opened gap.

It landed on the nearest beam with an easy grace, steadied, and dropped down further back out of sight, landing almost silently on the floorboards. They creaked, just enough to give the intruder pause, and Minty time to assess the figure she had glimpsed. No one from around here, sure enough; she knew how they all moved.  Dark clothes, raised in places that suggested light re-enforcement; masked, hooded, and an athletic build – larger than her, but most people were. No visible weapons, but moved like someone who would have _something_ \- so possibly that should be ‘no _large_ weapons’.

 _Alright then_.

“We _are_ closed,” Minty said brightly as she straightened up, bringing the gun up in a sharp arc to track the intruding form. She was expecting a response – but the _speed_ of the reaction caught her a little short, as one gloved hand shot out across the bar, knocking the twinned barrel upwards far enough that Minty’s own answering-shot went wide, blowing a chunk out of the nearest beam with a leaden explosion.

She recovered fast, continuing the weapon’s deflected rise to jerk back round with the butt.  It was a miss, but the intruder had to dodge, giving her a moment to vault the bar and hit her sudden-opponent in an angled slide. The dark figure swivelled, catching onto Minty’s foremost arm with a throwing-grip – but she was faster as she dropped from the bar, locking an ankle behind one black-clad knee and twisting, shifting the pivot as she took their combined balance.

A line of cold opened along her side as the figure’s free hand sprouted a thin blade, slicing into the loose fabric of her dress, but this time the reaction was too short, and too late.  Minty brought the toppling form down hard onto the floor, breaking her own fall with a knee into her opponent’s gut. There was a _whuf_ of expelled air, and she took the moment of distraction to bend the extended wrist back against itself, sending the little sliver of edge skittering away across the floor.

"Stay _down_ ," she said, sweetly, as she felt the figure stiffen under her and another grunt of winded exclamation broke free – but this one seemed to be from surprise. The struggling stopped, suddenly, as her opponent gasped at air.

" _Minute?_ "

Minty blinked. The voice was muffled by the figure's mask, but there was something familiar even in the bruised tones. She adjusted her grip, dragging the balaclava free in one swift movement – and stopped, as history collided with the _now_ so hard she could almost hear the impact.

"…Antioch?"

The revealed face was one she certainly hadn't expected to see again, but there was no mistaking those striking features. The brunette looked older, of course; her hair was shorter and had been braided down tightly under the hood, and there were a few more sketches of scarring across her knife-edge cheekbones, particularly down the left side. They were potion-softened, but one wound had clearly come very close to taking an ear, and there were faint shadows of stranger marks tracing down into the high neck of her dark shirt. But in a way – in a very, very _specific_ way, in fact – the _lack_ of change was more remarkable.

Minty raised an eyebrow, if only to keep from gawking.

“Aren't you supposed to be dead?" she asked, carefully, as their gazes locked – blue to brown – each slightly widened in mirrored surprise. Antioch blinked back at her.

"That's a bit rich, from _you._ " Her accent had shifted, curled about with a stronger Icarian lilt than Minty remembered, although there did seem to be genuine surprise in the tones. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my bar. Which you broke into,” Minty pointed out, as she adjusted her hold again. History was one thing, but she wasn’t going to get herself skewered on sentiment alone. “Is there any good reason I should let you up?"

She was trying to ignore the impossibility of the situation – because, really, the frequency of the impossible had only gone up in recent years, for which she was hardly one to talk – and she could almost see the thoughts flickering back and forth behind that dark stare. Then her unexpected intruder relaxed, the tension draining out of her all at once, as she lay back and fixed Minty with a swift grin.

"Curiosity?"

_Hah._

But she had a point. After a second or two of consideration – and because, yes, the intrigue _was_ burning a sharp trail through her mind – Minty stood back, warily. Antioch stayed still until she had taken a few steps back, then sat up, as her gaze took a quick assessing circuit of the bar. The moment hung, stretched in the air for a little longer than comfortable, then she tilted her head slightly.

"So. Etiquette. What're you going by, these days? Even this far in the sticks, I'd guess you wouldn't want to – "

"Minty," Minty replied, sharply, but couldn't keep down a small smirk at the blinked response.

" _Minty?_ Really?"

"Is that a problem, ‘Norris’?" she layered emphasis on the name, and the other woman smiled – the same wide, wicked expression it had always been – and shook her head.

"Point taken. But it's just… Isabel, at the moment."

“Not so much call for dread pirates anymore?” Minty hadn’t intended it to be a jibe, but small muscles tightened at the sides of Isabel’s eyes at the words, and her lips thinned.

“It’s not so appropriate, right now,” she said, more quietly, and Minty carefully didn't frown. There was meaning there, but the layering was difficult to interpret.

What the hell. She could spare one chance.

"Well, like I said – this is my bar,” she said as she turned away – noting that the apparently-distracted moment sprouted no more knives in the direction of her back – and selected a bottle from the main display behind the counter, snagging a couple of short glasses with the other hand. "And I'm being a terrible host."

Glass clicked softly against the polished woodwork as she set the tumblers down on the nearest table, equidistant, and placed the bottle between them. Isabel watched her, hesitantly – she glanced up for a moment, at the still-open gap in the roof – then slid into the opposite chair as Minty sat down. She uncorked the bottle, tipped a generous measure of the crystal-cleared liquid into each glass, accompanied by a rising, incongruously-floral scent, and picked up the closest one.

_My bar. My rules._

"Since I seem to remember visiting your grave? Here's to your unexpected health." Minty tilted the glass, and Isabel’s smile returned – genuinely enough, it seemed – as she shook her head and picked up the other drink, then gently clicked the rims.

"I never even _found_ yours," she added in reply and they took the shots, without breaking eye contact or blinking as the liquid scorched its way down both throats. Minty tucked an ever-escaping strand of purple-tipped blonde back behind her ear.

"I never really thought I'd leave one. Nice to be right." She picked up the bottle again, and Isabel pushed her glass over. Minty filled it, then sat back, sliding the bottle aside, and refixed her gaze.

"So. I take it you followed my package?"

Isabel curled her gloved fingers together, looking thoughtful.

"I couldn't see the address. Makes sense though, if she knew _you_ were out here… Did you open it?" She looked up, sharply, and Minty felt a faint prickle of concern at the sudden urgency there.

"Not yet," she replied, carefully. "Should I have?"

“Not... yet.  You know what it is?”

“I can guess.” Minty brought her glass up to her lips, so close her breathing drew steady patterns into the surface. “Something that needs to be a long way away, all of a sudden? Defended, not just mislaid; and sent from someone who knows both _me_ , and how I handle... lost property. So it’s dangerous. And – most likely – it’s _pursued_.” At that, she sent a nod across the table and drained her drink, an edge of challenge in the movement. The other woman tilted her stare again, her eyes narrowing ever-so slightly as she mirrored the action.

“Close. But I’m not _pursuit_ , per say. More like... insurance.”

 _Insurance._ Minty resisted the urge to pull a face as she reached for the bottle again. Because there was such a history of _that_ going well, out here.

“Insurance that didn’t know where its target was even headed?” She refilled both glasses. Isabel sighed.

“Minute – I’m not trying to trick you, here.”

“I am glad.”

“I _mean_ ,” Isabel shot her a faint glare, as the glass was pushed back towards her. “It wasn’t a planned send. We’ve got plenty of artefacts more apparently hazardous than this one; we just weren’t expecting – ” she stopped, winced slightly, and her finger tightened again around the drink. “ – anything. Not like what happened. And when we could get in safely, it was already gone. I don’t know if she knew something was going to happen, or if it was lucky timing, and I can’t ask now; but I managed to track the trucks leaving town that week. This one made the least obvious sense.”

“That’s pretty much our catchphrase out here,” Minty noted, keeping her tone light, as she sifted through all the missing bits of Isabel’s words. She had a fairly good idea who ‘she’ would be – well, perhaps two choices, but it didn’t matter – or who it _had_ been, if the tone of the narrative was truthful.

 _‘We’ve got plenty of artifacts_.’

 _That_ was interesting. Although possibly not immediately relevant. She wasn't much the wiser on what her mystery package actually was beneath the wrapping, and the apparent intrigue, but that wasn't something she needed to let on.  She raised an eyebrow.

“So, now you know where _it_ is. What will you do now? Other than dropping through my roof, in the middle of the night, with a knife in your sleeve.” She nodded up towards the still-open hole in the ceiling, high above, and Isabel frowned.

“I didn’t know it was you in here. And you did pull a shotgun on me.”

“And if it hadn’t been me?” Minty made a little show of inspecting her nails, idly picking at where the tussle had sent a thin crack through the polished surface, even as she scrutinised the little twitches of muscle under Isabel’s expressions. They were a little less controlled now, but two generous doubles of this particular import would do that.

_If you’d been a little earlier? At the Compound, for example?_

Isabel shrugged.

“I just need to be sure,” she said quietly, and her gaze roamed around the room again, clearly searching. “It’s still _here_ , I assume?”

“Why?” Minty asked, cheerfully, as she tilted her nails again, looking at the other woman past framing fingers. “Aren’t I surety enough?”

Isabel hesitated, a little longer than she perhaps meant to.

“I... wouldn’t want to put you in danger – ” she started, but cut off as Minty laughed, loud and unapologetic, and shook her head, swinging more loosed hair around her face.

“Oh, come _on_ , Isabel! Really? That’s the best you can do?” She tucked the hair back again, as the last few giggles escaped. Her guest had gone very quiet. “You haven’t really even tried to tell me what this thing is, or who you’re working for. At the very least I should be charging you finders’ fee. But no, it’s all kinda dangerous, and I should just... what? Trust you on that? Or with _it_? A reason, please, and make it a good one.”

There was a long moment of silence, as Isabel stared down into her glass. When she spoke again, there was an air of very careful control to her voice.

“You know me, Minute.” She looked up, her expression not quite managing to be as light as she was trying, and it cooled further as Minty held up a finger, warningly.

“I _knew_ you. As a terror of the high seas, _and_ – “she gestured sharply, cutting off Isabel’s rising response. “ – whatever reason you had, however much of mask some of it was, you were _very_ good at it. Ten years since?” She sipped her drink again, not breaking eye contact. “I recognise you well enough. But I wouldn’t say I know you, now.”

Isabel’s eyes narrowed, and then then more-familiar Antioch steel was there again, under her stare, as she leaned forward a little further.

“So who are you, _now_?”

“I told you.” Minty raised her glass, letting her brightest, and most entirely unreadable smile creep across her face. “I’m the bartender.”

“That doesn’t tell me very much.”

“It’s not meant to, sweetheart.”

The tightening moment broke – very abruptly – as there was a quiet, but insistent  _click_ from behind the bar, accompanied by an echoed chime from somewhere in Isobel's clothing. She drew a small golden ring out of a hidden pocket, and swore quietly. There was a sliver of greenish stone set across the metal band, which was flashing softly, and a new concern washed across her face. Minty looked at it, then at her.

"Were you followed?"

"Apparently." Isabel stood up, and Minty was surprised at how pale she suddenly looked, as she glanced around again, tension clear in her stance. "Min, please – I can get it away from here, and if they've been following me, they should – "

"Who are we talking about?" Minty stood up too. "Not friends of yours." It wasn't really a question, and Isabel gave a small, cold laugh as she shook her head.

"No. They're… Well, we've been calling them the Withered."

Ice curled itself down Minty's spine at the word, and she tried not to let it show on her face. The capital letter had been audible enough. She glanced at the bar again, as another _click_ occurred, calculating.

"It's moving fast, and we're backed up against the sea. You wouldn't make it."

"I can take my chances – " Isabel started, as she took a step forward, then grimaced slightly and steadied herself again on the chair. "Christ, what was _in_ that stuff?"

"Proof."

Minty scrutinised the figure in front of her. Despite any misgiving she might have – or suspicions – there did look to be genuine worry in that dark stare, even as Isabel blinked, a little owlishly.

" _Proof?_ "

"Bit of wordplay." Minty grinned a little, even with the rising tension. "If you can drink with me, and still fool me? I deserve to be tricked. We can defend here better than you can run alone, I'd think."

"Defend?" Isabel boggled, slightly, as she swept a hand around the room. "This is a _bar!_ "

"No. This is _my_ bar."

Minty stood up and stepped behind the counter, fiddling around behind the rows of varied bottles there until she found the one she was looking for. It was much smaller than the rest, and the liquid that crawled thickly against the sides was an almost-luminescent white. She took a swig – feeling the burnt-tin hallucination of alchemical after-taste prickle down her throat – then snapped the lid back on and tossed it to Isabel, who caught it, slightly fumbling.

"Get your focus back. Rifle or bow, at range?" she asked. Isabel blinked again, then gave a small shrug as she opened the flask.

"Bow, but arrows don't do a lot alone."

Minty grinned.

"I have a technomancer with a lot of time on his hands, a bartering attitude towards economy, and quite the tab."

Her fingers played along in their careful, practised pattern over the rivets under the counter, and there was another click as the hatch slid open in the floor. She swung down into the softly-lit access shaft, sliding down the ladder, and landed in the little room beneath. The space was much smaller than the bar above, but the dark-brick walls here were lined with metal cabinets and she slid quickly over to the closest. It was a few moments' search to find what she was after, and she wedged the weapons under her arm as she clambered back up – emerging to find a much more sober-looking Isabel peering down at her, her eyebrows raised.

"You have a strange definition of 'bar'."

Minty grinned again as she held out the bow – a simple but sleek affair in layered wood, with a faint, crimson oil-sheen glimmer that played across the surface, as Isabel took it and the proffered quiver. She quickly slung her own scabbards into place, sword across her back and the potion belt at her waist, and checked the long-muzzled gun she had chosen for herself. Range wasn't her strong point, but they would have the advantage of fixed position.

Possibly she should have been more worried. Isabel was an unknown factor right now – although Minty was, currently, putting her bet on ally – but there were far too many unanswered questions to let her vanish off again into the night to unknown fate. If nothing else, it seemed quite rude.

And she really _was_ curious.

"The detectors going off are north." She nodded to the appropriate windows as she hit the lights again, plunging the room back into semi-darkness. "The glass and shutters move from this side, so – " she stopped, chill blooming against her thoughts even as Isabel crept over towards one of the half-booths against the front wall, which offered good cover for looking out across the yard.

 _North_. _Are they following you, my old friend, or your trail?_

"See anything?" Minty slid back behind the bar again, rummaging under the counter, the first shiver of a different concern leaking into her thoughts. Isabel had eased down part of the blind, and had the strange ring in her hand, but she shook her head.

"Not yet. You… are sure about this?"

"Yes. I've just got to check something."

Minty's fingers finally closed on what she was looking for – a thin headset, with microphone and receiver built into one side, and a frankly ludicrous, mostly-decorative mini-dish on the top. She remembered when Sjin had given it to her, proudly bedecked in his own version, and declaring it to be the 'latest Sipsco, top-secret, hush-hush communications network'. Apparently this is what happened when you let Sips play around with walkie-talkies; although, having seen his occasional taste in headgear, it wasn't a huge surprise.

Now she just had to hope either of them had kept theirs, and that the thing still _worked_. She flicked the little switch on one side, and couldn't repress a small hiss as a burst of static promptly pierced her ear. This was replaced by a series of beeps and a noise that sounded like a dial-tone played through a hollow tube; she shifted impatiently, tapping her fingers against the headset and keeping one eye on Isabel.

The clicking-hesitation of connection was dreadfully long, but suddenly – thankfully – there was a voice on the other end.

“Heyy Minty. You still got this shit lying around? How’s it going?”

“Sips?” Minty gave a small breath of relief at the voice, but she had to be sure. “Is Sjin with you?”

“Yeah, he – ”

“Go inside, and make sure your guns are charged,” she cut him off, and she could almost _hear_ the frown creeping down that distant, greyed-out face.

“Geeze, what – ?”

“ _Sips_ ,” she said sharply, silencing the rising grumble. “There’re times when ‘geeze, Minty’ doesn’t cut it; this is one of those. Inside. Guns. Quick as you can.”

There was silence from the other end for a few moments, and when Sips spoke again, the annoyance was gone from his voice; his faint drawl now tinged with concern.

“You need a hand out there?”

“I’m fine,” Minty added firmly. “I just... gotta be sure you boys are alright. Nothing we – nothing _I_ can’t deal with. I’ll speak to you later.” She cut the connection, and slid the headset back into its alcove. Isabel glanced round from her position as Minty turned back toward the room.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

"Good. Because I think I can see something." Isabel selected an arrow and notched it, steadying herself against the window frame.  Her moonlit expression was grim. Minty took up a mirrored stance at a different window, resting the rifle against the window sash, in the _mostly_ -decorative grooves in the woodwork, that fitted it so well.

"Any advice?" she asked, as she caught the first glimpse of a low shape, darting across the moonlight hillsides just out of range. It certainly didn't move like anything that had any business being out there. Isabel laughed, darkly.

"Aim for the head."

\---


End file.
